Page 85 of Again, In Autumn

“Fine.” I wave my hand dismissively. “Then, like, what kind of shows do you watch?”

He hinges forward. “I know what kind of shows you watch.”

“You’re so sure I haven’t changed in fourteen years? Maybe I’m, like, really smart now. Maybe I read Pulitzer Prize winning novels and exclusively watch documentaries.”

Adam smiles. “I heard you and Kate talking about Vanderpump Rules yesterday. And I don’t see any books in here…”

“I could read on my phone.”

“You could.”

His lips pinch, telling me that he knows I don’t read, that he knows everything about me because the cold, hard truth is that I haven’t changed that much. Apart from being adventurous and happy and excited about life, I’m the same person I was.

But those missing qualities feel really, really important.

Before I can respond, Adam’s eyes widen and his finger presses to his lips. “Shh.”

Someone walks past the closed door. Her voice wafts down the hallway and when I realize what’s happening, his features contort into regret. Adam hangs his head. “I know, I know –”

“Are you hiding from Katie?” I whisper.

“She’s twenty-three!” he whispers back.

“Please.” Despite the gold confetti exploding in my mind, I push off the bed and step into the space between his stretched legs. Our shoes almost touch. “You’re a man. There are no age limits for men.”

“There are for me.”

“I thought you liked her?” I feel badly, immediately, for cheering on Kate’s rejection. He doesn’t deserve her attention.

Again, regret precipitates his words. “I didn’t mind you thinking that. Or me trying to think that. When I wanted to be mad at you, I also wanted to make you jealous.” He meets my eye. “Not that it worked.”

“She is a nice girl.”

“She is,” he admits. “But she’s too young. We have nothing in common.”

“You want a girl you have something in common with?” I breeze.

Adam pushes off the dresser. He stands opposite me, close enough to play our own bedroom version of the mirror game, and a slow whistle breezes through his lips. He says, “Yeah. Like strawberry ice cream.”

I step back, toward the window, stumbling a little from the speed. That statement was not a cheeky innuendo. It was not some mindless flirtation. That statement felt like an invitation, or, god-forbid, a tease.

Adam’s eyes smile, apologetically, the rest of his face passive. “Like Maggie said, she’s not the girl for me.” He pauses in thought. “Are you seeing someone?”

He asked me that last night and I avoided the question. Why does he care? Why is that the question that just popped out of his mouth?

“Not anymore,” I reply.

“Why not?” he immediately asks.

I ask myself that question often and the answer is exactly what I gave him: “Because it didn’t fit. And I’d rather be alone than less than one hundred percent happy.”

I busy my hands by grooming my hair while Adam keeps his eyes on me. He says, “I get that.” Then, he taps a picture tapped to the wall. “This room is like a time capsule.”

“Yeah.” I can’t help but smile at his smile when he touches the picture of Fran and I at a waterpark.

He says, “It’s weird how we can feel sixteen-years-old and fifty all at the same time.”

I agree, “My brain says I’m just a kid, but my body says otherwise.”

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